


Steel Machine, Life-Ruiner

by NeoQwerty



Category: The Protomen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Sonic Weaponry, Gen, Light's Robots can see the state of people's souls, Megaman Battle & Chase References, Post-Act 1: The Protomen, Protoman Is Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoQwerty/pseuds/NeoQwerty
Summary: Protoman's Purpose flows through his veins and mind, as the world cries out for someone to help them. He sets out, leaving those who pulled and pushed him out of his own Darkness back into the Light to take care of the City that gave him life, that is Home, and goes beyond the reach of City Network.He finds a city ruled by cruelty, where the winners of a monthly racing tournament make the rules and abuse their power, and enters that tournament. This city's Hero will take the shape of Wily's Monster, cold and cruel and man-killing.





	Steel Machine, Life-Ruiner

**Author's Note:**

> Basically caused by noticing Panther's vocal range in [TWRP's Phantom Racer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRd6OZxrEsU) was Joe's-- and then the vocoder gave it Protoman's vibes. I instantly thought of a Protomen version of Battle & Chase and how violent it would be!

_Racers, start your engines!_

The roar of vehicles, all around, growling and purring, hissing and whining, a mismatch of times and places. A gladiatorial arena, unlike any city Protoman has ever visited before, both an echo of the Network and yet utterly alien. The other racers are humans, feral and dead-eyed, ready to kill and die to win the grand prize.

Protoman almost feels bad as he flicks switches and feels the whining rattle of the flight engine warming up behind his seat. His car's scavenged from the contestants' junkyard, like everyone else's, but he doesn't have to worry about as much. He's made of steel and a machine, stars beyond the fragility of bone and flesh.

The lights blink on, one red. Two red. Three yellow.

_Go!_

Three green. He floors the gas pedal, and in a whining roar, the red and white car peels off alongside the other high-speed racers. His fingers tighten on the wheel, and eyes glowing blue-white flick over his surroundings, scanning for details. First turn, and another driver moves to cut him off. Protoman thumbs a switch, and part of the side panel shifts aside to eject small pneumatic-loaded tire-shanks into the other vehicle.

_I can't believe what I'm seeing!_

The announcer seems so stunned and aghast that Protoman laughs, darkly, behind his helmet, as the racer crashes into a wall in an explosion of burning kerosene. One dead, fourteen to go. He flicks the panel back into place, thumbs the reload. He's in this not for the grand prize, but to wipe everyone out. He's heard the way these racers act in this city, seen how black their souls are, worse than the Dead. Monsters, just like Wily was, full of powerlust and greed, forcing others to bended knee. Fourteen gets in front of him, and he knocks the back of a knuckle against a button on the dashboard, lets loose one of his six laser charges on the gun of the front bumper. Down to thirteen.

_In a shocking turn of events, the newcomer is picking off each racer one by one!_

He swerves to avoid the wreck in front of him, and feels the heat of an explosion behind him as the car on his trail doesn't react fast enough. Twelve, and they're going down faster than expected. His dark smile doesn't leave his face, and his eyes sweep the track for his next target. Here, in this city, he's a hero by being the same monster with blood on his steel. Here, justice is the same as revenge, and here, he can burn red and righteously angry without remorse or guilt. A quick jerk of the steering wheel and he gets right in front of number twelve, slams on the brakes until she rams into him, and then floors it again, peeling off in a burst of fire and light that sets her car on fire.

_I wouldn't want to be out on that track tonight, this driver is out for blood...!_

But he hears, above the announcer, the silver, the crowd's roar, their chant.

"Take them down! Take them down! Take them down!"  
 _'Make them pay! Give them hell! Fight for us!'_

It's just what he needed to hear, the justice, the satisfaction, the catharsis rushing through the people in the stadium, looking down at the track, and he obeys. Eleven gets his tires shredded with his second salvo of metal spears, and collides with the tenth one, taking both out in an explosion that lifts his car's backside and makes him wobble on the track for a precious few seconds. Nine makes the mistake of trying to block him off and spear him with her spiked back bumper, so he shoots her right as she begins turning ahead of him, sends her spiralling to wrap around a camera's pole, her vitals dropping off as her neck breaks.

Protoman's heart is pumping in his chest, thrums of war and victory as loud as hissing pistons, a thudding punch echoing in his ribs and lungs, as he continues taking down racers. Eight becomes seven, then six, then five, and the crowd's roar grows louder and greater, until it's finally just him and the running champion. He drives next to him, for just a moment, just long enough to look the other in the eyes, white to brown. Just long enough to savor the panic, before the driver, desperate, slams into his car's side until Protoman disengages to recover, giving the other time to escape, chasing for the finish line, for the last curve in the race.

_The remaining car is speeding down the track like he's being chased by the devil himself!_

Running won't work, though. Protoman hasn't used his last weapon yet, and he hovers his index over the switch for a moment, running numbers through his brain one last time. Then he flicks the second engine on, and the whirr of his car turns into a shrieking roar, moving faster than anything he's ever driven before, taking all his focus to handle. He slams into first place, the low front of his car wedging under the high backside, and drags the other driver, in a straight line, for the hairpin turn of the track right before the finish line.

_The newcomer has rammed into the first place driver with incredible speed and seems to be pushing him forward! The lead racer is clearly slamming on the brakes, but the two of them show no signs of slowing down! There's no way they'll make the next corner at this speed!_

Protoman knows. And from the way the racer is trying to spin them around, his maneuvers countered by tiny twitches on Protoman's steering wheel, he knows it too. Finally, moments before, the racer gives up and twists, to lock eyes one last time with Protoman, and Protoman flippantly lifts his black-out visor, grins a dark and cruel and devil-may-care grin with supernova-blue stars for eyes. He sees what little color is left of the racer drain, and closes the helmet back down just before they slam into the wall, and everything around him turns into burning-hot fire.

_I can't bear to watch! No, no, no, up in flames! They've gone up in flames!_

The crowd's din hangs, in disbelief, and Protoman extricates himself from the car, the jumpsuit burnt away and leaving him in his second-skin Robot Commanders-proofed body armor. He walks out of the blaze as if nothing happened to him, the heat rising off his metal alloy plates as he takes off his helmet to pant out the excess of hot air inside, and the crowd's reaction is wild, and deafening as he walks, oh so casually, to the finish line.

_I don't know how the newcomer survived that terrible crash, but here he comes, out of the flames!_


End file.
